The Science of Love
by Rival Argentica
Summary: "Love is like an hourglass—with the heart filling up as the brain empties."


**Disclaimer—**

 **The quote from the summary is dutifully attributed to Jules Renord.**

 **The 39 Clues is rightfully owned by Scholastic.**

 **This humble fanfic is humbly written by me.**

 **And, finally, the pleasure of reading is indisputably yours. (If you consider reading my fanfics a pleasure, that is.) :D**

* * *

The Science of Love

* * *

—what had just…?

Why was she…?

How did it even…?

Why was _this_ even a—

—where in the world…!

What did…

How did it _even_ … _?_

When—when…just when did—

…ugh.

 _What?!_

But even the last of the questions was dutifully left unanswered—simply because more and more of them kept firing at her mercilessly. They were relentless. They didn't stop. They _couldn't_ stop. All of them were practically being barraged into her like a continuous blasting of cannon fire that couldn't aim at the target correctly to pin down an intelligible answer. Her mind was a clutter, a jumble, a confusion of thoughts buzzing around her and stinging her mind as they tried to get her dissented attention. Everything was a fuzzy blur, as each voice that screamed and demanded her for an answer would be immediately replaced by another, until it is replaced by another and until it is replaced by another and replaced by another and replaced by another—the process going on and on that seemed to be even longer than ad infinitum that she couldn't even _start_ thinking about what the question even meant in the first place.

She left confused, innocent bystanders staring after her as she furiously landed heavy, angry footfalls onto the tiled, white floor with the bitter resentment flaring vehemently from her livid green eyes. But she barely even cared about them. She huffed and puffed, her face red and breathless and _angry_ , and she was absolutely frustrated with nobody else but herself.

Because stupid, stupid, stupid—

—how could she have been so utterly _stupid?_

She made sure that every inch of her face was hidden from the view of the crowding, curious public—she was angry at them, at those staring, gathering, _annoying_ people; why couldn't they just _leave her alone?_ She'd had enough—gaining any more witnesses of how pathetic she just looked like right now wouldn't exactly help with her current situation.

Strands of blond hair, limp and lifeless, stuck onto the wet skin of her face like thin, scraggly vines on a wall. Her dark, tearstained face was overcast, a shadow blanketing her with internal darkness as she kept her hoodie wrapped tightly around her, clenching onto it with her knuckles so hard that the skin onto her fists protruded with veins mapping out like ancient roots. She was heedlessly marching forward, eyes raging war and blinded with fury, legs moving with the stiff mechanisms of an android as she just stared ahead.

She had never felt like this before. Never, ever, _ever_. And she was overly frustrated at feeling like this, _this_ , feeling so broken and helpless. She was supposed to be someone calm, cool, and collected, taking on problems with smooth precision and scientific methodologies; and, as a natural-born scientist, she was supposed to look through things with a calculating eye, carefully filtering through any and every predicament with analytic reasoning and formidable logic.

But this—she couldn't understand it. She just _couldn't_. This, _this_ was one situation where, for once, she is rendered incapable to gain access in using her analytical prowess, simply because it _just wouldn't work_. She couldn't even pin down one, single, _painful_ little question to begin with! She prided herself with her intelligence, but now her mind stubbornly refused to cooperate—it was simply shut down, like a useless, inoperable machine. It was almost as if her emotions were like electricity, overloading in a frighteningly global rate, causing a massive blackout that exhausted every power station that ever existed on the planet—or, in this case, exhausting her brain.

And with her brain out of commission, she practically felt...defenceless. Frail. _Unarmed_. Her rationality was a gift that she always depended onto to always keep herself under logical control, but now that it was gone, now that _all_ was gone, she felt like a spineless jellyfish that had not a rigid framework to keep her standing as tall as she used to.

Because now she was falling apart.

If she can only _stop_ feeling like _this_ , feeling _miserable_ —that would be a blessing she'd eternally be grateful for. She felt like wanting to rip her heart off of her chest just so she could stop feeling the pain. But now, here she was, acting like a pathetic, tearstained wreck, deeply wounded and scarred for life, and there was nothing she could do—she was completely helpless, alone, like a stray cat left outside in the grey, empty streets, pounded on by the relentless rains like missiles that sought and took pleasure at the sight of her ruin. Her wet green eyes held that reflective gleam of pain and anguish and excruciating heartache; she was miserable, mortified, demoralized and defiled; she was irate, _furious_ , so fumingly _angry_ that it made her want to rip the flesh of anyone who even _dared_ —

"Miss Sinead Starling?"

She whirled around from her hysterical prancing to menacingly tower upon this—this interrupting _cretin_ who had the impertinent gall to say her name while she was busy being in the middle of her—her…her _whatever_ _it is_ she'd been doing. Because _gods_ , can't these fools just _see_ that she wanted to be left _alone?_

"What _IS_ it, you blithering _idiot?!"_

The more or less fourteen-year-old teen who had approached her practically shrunk even smaller than an ant at being shouted at, fear glowing big in his innocent eyes as he lowered them to the ground, embarrassed beyond his greatest nightmares. Everybody was looking at him now, the whole mall had practically grown eerily quiet to the most frightening degree, and, Sinead, who was on the very verge of breaking down right then and there, towered over him like a dangerous, thundering cloud about to strike with lightning with her furious green eyes, pour with all the tears that she kept contained from within her. She looked at him, expectantly, wanting him, _daring_ him to answer, that question she had just fired at him, because she herself did not know what it ever should be—so now she needed someone else to answer it for her.

 _Answer me,_ she seemed to be demanding through those probing eyes of hers, welling with tears as those long seconds of silence seemed to stretch into excruciatingly slow, lingering hours. _Just…just answer me. What do you think IS it that made me feel like this? Is there a cure, a remedy, an antidote, something, anything,_ anything _at all? Would I ever gain an answer? Would I ever be at peace? Would I ever be back to normal again? Please…just…please! Just_ answer _me!_

The boy shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, like a suspect being interrogated with a serious heavy crime—although now he felt to be more like the victim than the criminal. But instead of producing an answer that Sinead had internally, unconsciously hoped he would, he merely produced an ID card from his pocket, and held it out with trembling fingers, saying, "I-I-I…I saw you drop this."

Sinead's eyes widened as she registered that the ID card was hers, green eyes smiling up at her as brightly as the day she got accepted in the most prestigious science university there ever existed in America. How the hell _did_ it get on the hands of this doddering old recluse? Oh gods, she wouldn't be able to know what to do once she actually lost her school ID. She'd need it, right here, right now, if she wanted to flee from across the country and meet her brothers at Tel Aviv tonight, otherwise if she'd _lose_ _it_ , she would have to endure one more painful night at this bloody country they call the United States, when she practically _couldn't take it anymore_.

The boy, meanwhile, held it out to her more confidently now, now that he knew that he had gotten her attention; and Sinead's eyes shifted from her ID card on his hand to meet the young teen's glistening wide eyes. "I guess you dropped this?"

But before a sound could escape from Sinead's mouth when she opened it, a woman's static voice suddenly sounded from the intercom speakers from all over the mall.

"Paging Sinead Starling," she said, a mechanical voice that droned with robotic fluency. "Please report to the Customer Service hall now. I repeat, paging Sinead Starling; please report to the Customer Service hall now." The woman paused for a second, as if slowly, carefully, reconsidering what she was going to say next. Nevertheless, she decided on saying a simple but timid—

"Miss Starling…Jonah Wizard is looking for you."

Sinead's breath hitched, and she quickly snatched the ID card from the boy as she turned around fiercely, holding her ID close to her chest as if that was her lifeline. She muttered a quick 'Thank you' from under her breath that she didn't even know if the boy heard or not, but, really, that was not what she was mainly concerned with at the moment. The boy, though left speechless and bewildered, managed to stutter—

"H-Hey, wait!" he said, stumbling and fumbling as he ran after her, but Sinead was scampering away just too fast. Perhaps even a little _too_ fast. " _The_ Jonah Wizard is looking for _you?!_ "

 _I don't bloody CARE about who is looking for me_ , she thought icily, with her eyes again starting to well up with tears as she blocked out the voice of the boy, blocking out the voices of everyone in the world. No one else existed, just her, just her, left alone—she didn't need _anyone_ by her side to make her feel like she was happy, no—she didn't need _anyone_ to provide her happiness.

' _Because I don't care about him. I really don't.'_

She tightened her grip around her hoodie jacket, keeping it covering her face in the shadows as she repeated those same words again and again like a mantra, as if forcing herself to believe in something she didn't want to.

' _I don't care about him. I don't bloody care.'_

She felt herself choke upon her own words as she remembered that one little moment when she had caught sight of him. Earlier, just this very evening. It was… _painful_. They were supposed to be having fun tonight as he claimed they would; he had promised that it would be the one date that she would have with him that would forever remain special. He had said he had a surprise for her, he had promised that it would be the greatest night of their lives.

But, when Sinead had entered the café just a little earlier tonight, like they had agreed, she saw…she only saw…she saw—

She saw the start of her _catastrophe_.

She had been so stupid. She had been such a fool. Why ever did she even believe in his promises in the first place? She should have listened to her brothers. She shouldn't have fallen with him in the first place. She shouldn't have even loved him.

She shouldn't have.

That was why, that as she had stormed out of the café, she ran as fast as she could, wanting to escape _that_ hell as soon as possible as she had ignored his desperate pleas of 'Wait, Sinead, I—I didn't—I really d-didn't—please, come _back!_ ' because her face had already been streaming with tears, and she didn't want him to see just how hurt she was.

So, when she heard that same voice call out to her name desperately, right there, right _now_ , she ran even faster, cursing this mall for being the wide chamber of prison that it was to give her the exasperating trouble in finding the exit, ignoring his frantic cries altogether.

" _Sinead, wait!"_

* * *

He had been scouring each and every single turn and corner that he had ever encountered in this large mall like a fine comb, the suffocating grey walls trapping him like he was in the middle of an impossible maze from which, try as he might, he couldn't ever find a way out from. His feet thundered as the soles of his shoes beat at the marble-tiled floor that reflected the gleam of the lights shining from the ceiling above, sweat from his forehead flying here and there as he frantically swivelled his head left and right in search of her.

"Sinead, where _are_ you?"

He observed the people that casually walked around in their usual, civilian life—a simple, happy family pushing at a grocery cart while the father told them stories, a preppy teen with her other girly friends carrying obnoxiously large shopping bags, a casual man over there who talked in his phone while he pulled at the leash of his large, golden Labrador that kept following its master like the obedient dog it was. Oblivious people walked by here and there and regarded the boy who wore a cap to hide his famous face with little attention.

He grunted to himself when he didn't find her among any of them. But, as if the heavens heard his inner plea, it granted upon him a marvellous sight—a brief, fleeting glimpse of moonlight blond from his peripheral vision. It was so achingly familiar that he felt a twist of hurt gnaw at his stomach as if the reaction in itself was reflexive. His eyes widened—his short black hair flew at the air as he spun his entire body to move to the right, where he thought he saw a streak of blond hair pass through in that specific corner. From inside of him, he felt something spark, a glimmer of the slightest hope, perhaps, as he let his brown eyes catch that little flickering flame and once again light up the darkness that had engulfed him from within—

" _Sinead, wait!"_

He reached out a hand as if that would make him catch her in his grip as he stumbled himself forward, causing him to bump against people who gave him a vast variety of murderous stares that he could not care less about as he trudged himself forward, pushing himself against the crowd that shouted 'Hey!' 'Watch where you're going!' or 'What do you think _you're_ doing, punk?' to try to cast him down. But Jonah would not give up from looking for her, he would look for her for the rest of eternity if need be, and since _she_ was the love of his life, he would never, _ever_ be disheartened—

—as he already was, until he could get his heart back to him. And the only way to do that…

…is to find Sinead.

He clutched the box inside his pocket with hurt and desperateness. This was supposed to be the greatest night they'd have ever had. This was supposed to be a night of—of nothing but _romance_ , since he had planned this all throughout, ever so thoroughly; because, no one would believe it, he had been very nervous at first, but still he decided that man has got to do what a man has got to do. He'd crucially planned every single little detail of this particular date, what they should do through the course of the night, where by the strike of twelve, he would do the act and plunge into it, like now or never. He'd been staying up late for several nights of three weeks now, and because of sheer anxiety and jittery nervousness and all, he hadn't been getting enough sleep because he always thought of her.

But, look at this now, his planned night hadn't even _started_ , and yet everything, _everything_ is already practically destroyed—gone out of hand, like two lovers unable to find each other's hearts in a maze of swirling confusion, pain, and heartache. He didn't even know where this had all started rolling downhill—all he knew was that he had completely lost control of the situation, and now Sinead would hate him forever more for the horror that she had just witnessed with her two wide eyes. But the problem was, she didn't even give him a chance to explain.

She has got the _wrong idea_.

His side of the story was entirely different. He had been waiting peacefully for Sinead to arrive at the café in the mall where they had agreed to meet each other for the night (just like what they did on their first date) and Jonah thought that he had his face concealed with a cap just as effectively as he casually sat there among the other people. The hat he had on was a routine—you never know what might happen if people suddenly knew that a famous international phenomenon was just standing in their midst like a normal civilian. So he was just there, humming a random tune he'd been playing around with for a week now for the new song he had in mind as he drummed his fingers lightly against the smooth surface of the table—an action he usually did to keep himself calm. He was sweating at that time as he thought of the surprise he had promised to give to Sinead for that night, it made him nervous and all the more giddy, when, suddenly, a waitress came fluttering by innocently like a quiet butterfly. Jonah had paid her no mind, but, nevertheless, she flirted with him for a bit even as he tried in all subtlety to send her away—but no matter how he tried to do so, before he knew it, she had already pulled at his collar, and had fiercely smacked those greasy lips of hers to his. Jonah had been too bewildered to summon a reaction or even pull her away—because he was frozen in too much of a shock that he didn't even know what was happening in the first place.

But that, unfortunately, was the moment when Sinead had chosen to step in.

It was only then when Jonah seemed to regain total control of his frozen muscles and wake up his fossilized brain. Jonah didn't _care_ about the waitress—he had just pushed her off of him, all lessons learned about grace and poise incinerated in ashes. Because that was just plain disgusting, yo! Can't expect him to still act all nicely when the girl practically already had his perfect relationship with Sinead _destroyed_. He didn't know what the girl's problem was, but maybe it was the speculation that she probably recognized him (despite the donning of the cap and all) and she wanted to gain popularity by posting on Facebook saying that she had gained a kiss from the renowned international artist, Jonah Wizard.

It just sickened him the way people are nowadays.

And so, he'd been chasing after Sinead ever since, going to the Customer Service and page for her before he ran all around the mall in his two, incredibly exhausted feet, even risking his name to be announced over at the intercoms—but even as he did all that, everything else was just turning up as fruitless. And now, as he ran, as he shouted her name with his oh-so-familiar voice, he attracted the attention of the crowd—which, at first, he couldn't care less about, until he realized what he was starting to risk with this. Worse still, as he ran, his cap got thrown away from his head as he got accidentally hit by some random dude who only briefly said sorry for the big and small mishap—Jonah attempted to run back to retrieve it, that one protective cap that had been dutifully keeping his identity a secret all along, but now it was suddenly too late.

"Wait, is that…?"

"Gasp, it is!"

"Wait a minute, who?"

"Whoa, I can't believe my eyes!"

"It's—it's really—"

"Him! Yes, it's him! It's—"

" _Jonah Wizard?!"_

He wanted to Wiz up whoever that dude who announced his name was for everybody— _everybody_ —to hear. Now they all turned to look at him, open-mouthed and eyes wide with shock, frozen in their respective places as they just took the awkward sight of him standing in the middle of it all. He chuckled nervously and timidly raised a hand into the air in a friendly salute, as if he was just there, greeting a long-lost friend like a normal person.

"Yo...how's it doing?"

They were silent.

For a second.

"OH-EM-GEE IT'S REALLY _YOU!_ "

…and then, like a battle cry, all hell broke lose.

Jonah frantically whirled around and even almost hit the ground in the process as he did so in his haste, but thankfully he was able to catch himself before he fell face flat on the floor and got flattened by the approaching, thundering stampede of—of wild _animals_. He ran with all his might, pushing the capabilities of his legs far beyond their boundaries, even as his lungs started to ache and his shocked body pled for rest, which he tried so hard with the sheer force of his will to ignore. He whipped his head around to get a glimpse of what was following him—and the sight of the screaming, avalanching girls was enough to make him gulp a large lump in his throat, and keep him motivated to run even faster. They were out of control.

They were a _mob_.

He shut his eyes close, drew in a breath, and let it out, telling himself firmly and sternly that he had to focus at the task at hand. He needed to find Sinead, talk to her, take her hand, and run away with her from this prison together. He outran the crowd, at least he tried to, making sure he got a long way ahead of them before they caught up with him—years of similar situations taught him that if they ever got their hands on him, then, _word_ , there'd be no escape and he'd be nothing but a burned piece of toast.

He let his feet slide off the ground smoothly as he sharply turned to a corner in an attempt to escape the multitude of bodies that were hot on his trail, but then, suddenly, the sight of someone at the end of the hall stole his breath away and hardened his capability to move into a rock. Her hands placed onto her chest, she slowly lifted her shattered green eyes from staring blankly at the ground, and once hers met his, like a line reconnecting from a broken string, the single, fleeting moment froze in time.

Jonah stood still and dared not to move, even as the sound of the mob like hideous dark clouds of approaching storm thundered dangerously from inside his very ears. He stared at her from across the hall with the wide distance in between keeping them separated from each other, and he didn't want to break this fragile moment, this spell that had suddenly been cast between them, afraid that one, single wrong move would shatter it and make her run away.

And when he observed that she had tears in her broken green eyes, her beautiful blond hair matted like a rat's nest, sticking onto her red face stained with tears, he suddenly realized the real beauty of the art that he had just destroyed.

It crumpled his stomach at the thought that he was the one who had caused her this.

Jonah couldn't bear the tension anymore and decided to take the risk. He took a step forward, slowly, calmly, as if he was trying to talk to a frightened little tiger that could be provoked into violent action once taken wrongly.

"Sinead…"

But as the sound of Jonah's foot stepping lightly onto the floor rang out in the entire, empty hallway and reached Sinead's ears, she suddenly seemed to get a hold of herself and she whirled around, completely leaving Jonah standing alone in the dark—which, just as naturally, forced him into frustrated action once more.

"Wait, Sinead, just hear me out, please!"

He quickly ran down the hall, and once he reached the end of the passage, he swivelled his head to the right, the direction where Sinead had gone off to. He saw her quickly running down the steps of a long flight of stairs at the other end of this hall, and, immediately, he cooked up a plan on how to get down there first before she actually did. It took him a few seconds, but then his eyes lightened up with an idea—with newfound enthusiasm, he propelled his feet to move over the tiled floor so fast that it looked like he was almost hovering, and in the process he was already preparing himself physically and mentally for what he was planning to do.

Like a spring released from pressure, he leaped up in the air, let himself land onto the metal railing of the staircase, and quickly and smoothly he slid down from above like he was just another child enjoying the slide in a playground. He swiftly passed by Sinead, whose eyes were wide at the spectacle he was creating of himself, and when Jonah landed onto the bottom railing of the stairs, Sinead was just about to run back up the steps and attempt to run away from him, but—

Jonah firmly and strongly wrapped his fingers around her cold wrist.

They were silent for a long while as neither wished to speak first. Until, finally—

"…Sinead—"

" _Jonah_ ," she bit back bitterly as she tried to pull her wrist away, but Jonah's grip was tight. "Let me go."

"Never!" Jonah said, trying to pull her to him, wishing so fervently that they could just both be back to normal. If only she would just _listen_ … "Sinead, please, just let me explain this first—"

Sinead kept her face staring point-blank at the direction opposite of him, refusing to meet his eyes for fear of letting him see just how broken he had left her.

"I believe," she deadpanned, "that what I saw earlier _already_ explained everything."

Shock gripped him so hard that he felt like he was being strangled and squeezed out of air.

"No, it doesn't!" was Jonah's automatic response. "Sinead—please—that girl—she—she wasn't— _I_ wasn't—I just—I only—I—I—" He struggled, his tongue tied in too much of a confusion that he didn't even know how to start explaining it to her. After several moments of hopeless speechlessness, however, he defeatedly decided to settle with a "Sinead, why would you even think that I, of all people, would ever—"

She heatedly spun around and finally turned to face him, her wild eyes red-rimmed and face streaked with tears.

"You were _kissing_ _her!_ "

"No!" Jonah's breath started to go faster and his heart to beat even wilder. "No…no, I—I just—" He bit his lip, then just let it out as a sigh. "Sinead, I—I didn't plan this night to go this way, and in fact I was saving this for midnight, but—" he dug in his pockets and felt for the small box that lay from within—"but seeing as everything ended up in a disaster anyway, I just want to tell you that—"

Sinead harshly tugged at her wrist, causing Jonah to unwantedly let go. She had no interest whatsoever of what he had to say this time—she's just…she's just _tired_ , and she all she wanted to do now was to retire her exhausted body in the comforts of her bed.

With a broken voice, she said, "…Just leave me alone."

Before he could even start protesting, Sinead ran away from him, fast, and even as Jonah wanted to follow her with a burst of "Sinead! Please! _Sinead!_ " erupting desperately from his throat, he was already drowned out by the voices of his fangirls, gathering around him and smothering him with their kisses of emptiness.

And the last thing he saw was Sinead covering her tear-stained face with a hand as she fled, her blond hair a brilliant mane of moonlight as she ran away from him.

 _Far_ away from him.

* * *

Her scurrying feet eventually led her to the end of an empty hallway. When she checked her left and right for any random onlookers to make sure that she was alone, Sinead finally let the shock of the night catch up to her, with all her running now exhausted to heavy, puffing breaths of fatigue. As realization slowly dawned upon her eyes, she, in a painfully slow motion, leaned her whole, heavy body against the grey, ominous wall that stood from behind her—letting herself spend the few spare seconds in shock to realize what had just _really_ happened.

And, when she did, her brain slowly recovering from its massive state of blackness, she let her back slide down from the wall—her numb, insensate body listlessly meeting the piercing coldness of the floor.

Then, in that moment, she cried.

She had never felt as miserable as this. As far as she could ever remember, she never cried. She rarely—hardly ever—even cried. That led most people around her to the conclusion that Sinead Starling was cold, callous, unable to feel anything, and though that statement summoned an unexplainable sting from within her, she actually took pride of the title of being the strong girl that never cried.

But as high as the walls that she had built as defences around her were, she still felt those things. She felt them all the time. Anger. Pain. Hurt. But even as she did, she never let those feelings surface, for fear that she would lose control of herself and she'd never be the same again—just like now.

She was crying so hard that, with each painful sob that wracked her entire body, she felt like wanting to collapse right then and there and never wake up from the coma. She might as well just die. Everything was just too painful for her to endure. She didn't know what to do, trapped in a war between her heart and her mind. Why didn't anything ever come easy? She wanted to stay with him, even be with him forever, but something was holding her back—

And, face it, reality would always be the harsh truth that it was—

—he did not even _love_ her.

And she feared that _that_ was one wound that would never heal.

For a few more minutes she cried, venting out those heavy feelings of grief through those little secretions of tears that would forever remain a mystery to her. A few minutes, several, maybe, she could not tell, passed by, before the tears eventually stopped, and she now just sat there, staring blankly at the floor through space. She didn't understand it, but crying had…relieved her, somehow. It had cleansed her blackened heart, and for the moment, she was able to think even more clearly than before, back when her brain had been in such indiscriminate fuzz that she couldn't even tell the difference between left and right. She felt somewhat better now, just even for a little bit.

 _Although_ , she thought, crisply, as she used the little force left in her palm to push herself up from the floor, _I doubt I'd ever be myself again._

She smoothed out her crumpled clothes and swiftly ran her fingers through her matted hair for several times to try to look presentable at the very least. She walked forward to peer at the shattered reflection of herself at the smooth, transparent wall of glass that stood across her, and decided that, with the last swipe of the back of her hand against the wetness of her bagged eyes, she looked tolerable enough.

 _I'll go to Tel Aviv tonight,_ she told herself, _and just continue my life living with my brothers. At least, until I find the strength to go to school again._

She released a heavy sigh as she put her hands behind her head to reach for the hoodie of her jacket, and to slowly put it over her head again.

 _If I ever find the strength again, that is._

But the movement of her hands froze from putting her hoodie back on, just right when a very, very, _very_ familiar voice reached her sphere of audibility—echoing statically throughout the mall as it boomed through the intercoms installed on each hall.

" _I know you're out there, Sinead!"_

She stopped and stared horrifically at the lone intercom in the hall from where she stood, staring back at her as it hung innocently from up the ceiling. Sinead's face was a rigidly dreadful expression of shock. Questions immediately burst, relentlessly swirling from within her head, and even if there were practically millions of them, only one question stood out—

Is _that_ who she thought it was?

"I'm out here in the mall's main square," he continued to speak in a voice strained of desperateness. "Please. Come over here and listen to me."

Sinead was not one to listen to given, specific instructions just as blindly, and often demanded degrading questions first before letting herself get lured in the trap, but, this time, she was so suddenly gripped by her own shock and curiosity that it would kill her if she didn't just follow as told. She took her steps slowly and warily, putting up her guard and making sure it stayed firmly on place so she'd be ready for whatever avalanche that was about to roll on her on heaps of snowy boulders from up ahead. Sinead turned at a corner, and, there, she spotted an incredibly large crowd, gathering around someone that stood from the middle. She tiptoed and tried to get her eyes over the crowd and sweep over it to see, and, although she couldn't, she was still a hundred and one per cent certain on who _that_ person was—

Jonah Wizard.

She stepped even closer, trying to blend in with the crowd. She became more and more careful in covering up her face with her hoodie as she neared herself toward the centre—one can never know if the fourteen-year-old boy she had met earlier would recognize her and suddenly announce at the top of his lungs that Sinead Starling was actually here. She finally stopped walking, settling at a place where she was pleasantly hidden by the line of people that gathered in the front, but just enough where she could actually see what was going on.

Jonah was standing at the centre with a microphone in hand.

Despite herself, Sinead arched an interested brow at this. Where he had gotten the mike and how he had it connected with the intercoms she wasn't sure, but what she wasn't aware of was the effort it took him to plead to the mall's manager and give him just one chance. There was a distinct hush that had fallen upon the gathered people, like an aurous mist of mystery—she could sense that they were just as flamed as she was in trying to figure out what was going to happen next.

Jonah inhaled—then let it out.

"Sinead."

Everyone started murmuring, but the Ekaterina in their midst just waited in bated breath.

"The girl—I didn't. I swear, the sun and moon saw it, I didn't," Jonah explained, holding the microphone tightly in his hands, the brows on his forehead knotted in all his sincerity. "Hear me out first before you completely dismiss what I am about to say here. It was _her_ who did it—I didn't know that she even recognized me in the first place. I was just waiting in the café for you, and then she came along to, y'know, _flirt_ —when I tried to send her away, she just grabbed at my collar and sorta…went with it. I was disgusted. Sinead, I didn't even _know_ her."

Her eyes widened, completely shocked.

So it was all a _misunderstanding?_

While her brain desperately tried to gather all the data and connect the strings to come up with the clearest of pictures with a tenacious fervency mixed with disbelief, she felt her jaw dropping to nearly hit the floor at the sight before her.

Because the most shocking thing just happened next.

"Sinead…" he started, slowly, theatrically, nervously and determinedly—and he did something that mined a huge, shocked gasp from among the spectators, even Sinead, who couldn't take her eyes off of him, not even blinking for the briefest of nanoseconds, the sight simply leaping far beyond all the existing scientific formulas and equations that ever existed in the universe. "You are the only one I love."

Jonah Wizard, in all his humble dignity, had knelt onto the floor on one knee, his grace maintaining such a balanced posture that was expected from the dancer that he was. All Sinead could do was stare with wide, glistening green eyes as those chocolate brown orbs of his gleamed with a hypnotizing charm that caught her breath in her throat and hit her knees with a weakening spell, like a real wizard that caught her heart in a magical enchantment. Her own had somersaulted in her chest and she felt this refreshing sensation wash over her entire body that she practically felt like the events that had just happened five minutes ago were from another century.

"We have had fun times together, and I have grown to love you." Jonah's grip visibly tightened onto the plush velvet box of ring on his hands, as if that was where he drew his all strength from. It probably was. "You are intelligent, you take problems head-on, you never back away from a challenge, and I admire your determination and steadfastness in everything you do. You are the sun that brightens up my entire life. I wouldn't be able to live without you."

The words Jonah said involuntarily magnetized her. Sinead felt herself slowly come out of her hiding place, her hands unconsciously grabbing at the edges of her hoodie to put it down to reveal her face, and her feet moving slowly towards him without her brain's permission—all of this, as she felt her eyes fill up with more tears at the sight of him, over there, in front of her eyes, kneeling down—

"Will you marry me?"

—and asking for her hand in marriage.

Four words. Four, simple little words. Four words that she never thought anyone in her life would even ask her. They were just _words_ , but the way Jonah said them, with such simplicity and sincerity, Sinead felt those superfluous words get overcome by that hopeful gleam in his golden eyes, that loving edge to his tone that revealed the hidden heart from underneath. She felt those words fit perfectly like a lost piece in a jigsaw puzzle, and now that she'd found it, she can finally sit back and look at the bigger picture. Something inside of Sinead's heart clicked, and it felt as if a broken bone had been mended back into place—like an old wound was healed and perfectly perfect again.

The silence following Jonah's question fell upon everything and everyone and it was deathly. It felt like the whole world was suddenly plunged into an abandoned tomb. No one spoke—no one even dared.

For a second.

"Oh, _I will!_ " someone hysterically shouted, waving her hand up from the back of the crowd. "Oh, my Jonah, I will! I WILL! I _will_ marry you! OVER HERE!"

"No, he means me, he means me!" shrieked someone else. "He wants to marry _me!_ "

"No, no! Not _her!_ Me! _I will!_ "

"Move out of the way, _idiots!_ Of _course_ he wants to marry _me!_ "

"No, _me!_ "

"Me!"

" _MEEEEEEEE!"_

Sinead was a frozen statue in the middle of all the pandemonium. The entire mall spelled _utter chaos_ , with each girl shouting out at the very top of her lungs to spread a statement that wasn't true; security guards helplessly going around to tell everyone to remain calm; and the media bluntly pushing forward and thrusting mikes and cameras here and there against the sea of girls heated with their impassioned 'love' for their international idol. It was a ruckus, and, Sinead saw, that with each passing second that his eyes did not catch the sight ofthe right girl to proclaim the words 'I will', his face gradually fell into growing despair.

Sinead shut her eyes tightly, shook her head, clenched her fists—she could not bear such a sight.

So she would put an end to it.

" _STOP!"_

The shrieks suddenly died into a hush as each and every single person twisted their heads to plant their eyes onto her—her, Sinead Starling, who, in her eyes, possessed a fire that demanded their silence. She stood her ground, and if she was surprised at how effectively she was able to pull off this kind of authority over a mob that was previously just out of control, she showed not a sign of it on her face. In fact, she looked so coldly stony that some people even appeared to be wondering if she was a statue or not.

That is, until she started to move. Sinead's eyes were staring straight ahead, point-blank at Jonah Wizard, who had already gotten up from his kneeling position and had his face breaking into a surprised smile—then Sinead stopped walking, halting at the perfect, reasonable distance to kiss him.

But, unfortunately, she was also at the perfect, reasonable distance to slap him.

Jonah reeled back in shock, his hand now placed onto the slapped part of his now reddening face, clearly not expecting _that_ coming in a million years.

"HEY! What was that fo—"

But she didn't give him the chance to finish. All too suddenly, Sinead forcefully leapt forward and practically _tackled_ him—

—into a bone-crushing hug.

"H-Hey!" said a surprised Jonah, who staggered in his feet for a bit, because he most _certainly_ didn't see _this_ coming in a million years either. Quickly, though, he was able to grab onto his balance—and once he did so, he returned her hug with one of his tighter ones as well, burying his head onto her hair and doing nothing but feeling the moment. He was aware that they were doing this on public, and that cameras were watching him, watching _them_ , but he didn't care. The moment was far too perfect to destroy.

It was just…

… _perfect._

It seemed like a long time until he heard her sniffle from under his arms. He pulled back to take a look at her, but she just grabbed onto his shirt to cry into it all her repressed tears. He hadn't even realized she'd been…crying?

Sinead stayed still after breathing out a shaky breath.

"Never do that again, Jonah, you stupid, _stupid_ Wizard."

He blinked. "D-Do what?"

"Making me hate you," she answered, her voice muffled. "I don't want to hate you ever again. I…" She paused, carefully considering her next words, as if debating whether to even say them or not—but eventually she just gave up with a sigh. "I know I'm being sappy, but I…I hate me when I hate you."

It took him several seconds of blank blinking to ponder on this.

"…that doesn't even make any sense."

"Jonah, don't you get it?" Sinead finally looked up at him. "Love is _never_ logical."

"Hey!" Someone suddenly stepped up from the crowd to interrupt the now-together Wizard and Starling. She pointed a big, fat, sausage-like finger at Sinead. "Who the heck are _you_ , you ugly wreck? Why're you stealing MY Jonah?" She frantically gestured at her, eyes wildly looking at Jonah. "Oh, Jonah, look at this mess! You should be marrying _me!_ "

Jonah had simply had _enough_ of these peeps. He attempted to step up in Sinead's defence, already opening his mouth to lash out at the girl for badmouthing the love of his life, but the unwavering Ekaterina stopped him by putting her arm in front of him like a barrier. Jonah wanted to argue that he got this situation already, but the fire inside calmed down when she looked back at him with a reassuring smile. So Jonah only stepped back and gave her the stage, which she, with authority, claimed as her own.

"You." She put up a fist where her new ring caught the lights and it glistened joyfully. Jonah's eyes bulged out of their sockets at the sight of this, and his jaw practically fell lower and lower as he searched inside his pockets to find his velvet box _missing_. Because how on Earth did she get her ring _there?_

"Back off," Sinead growled menacingly at the girls. "We're _engaged_."

Jonah could only blow out a breath of admiration, a smile of pride dancing in his lips as he pulled her at her waist and brought him to her. She motioned for him to give her his hand, and he did—Sinead all too enthusiastically put his ring on his finger. He didn't care how she got the ring from him, or _stole_ the ring from his pockets with the sleight of her hand for that matter—it was enough of an explanation that he knew that Sinead was just the most…unbelievable girl he'd ever met.

It was equally unbelievable that he, Jonah Wizard, was going to marry _her_.

He tightened his hold around her waist, and Sinead held his hand just as tightly. He grinned.

"Atta girl."

And the rings were sealed with the kiss of forever.

* * *

 **The writing challenge was about a** marriage proposal catastrophe **, and it was posted by scrittore18, its instigator, roughly two months ago. Yikes. I also thought that Sinead and Jonah were out of character. Sorry for that! *hides behind couch* If you've read this, scrittore18, I hope I didn't disappoint you! D:**

 **Oh, and by the way…I enjoy feedback! Um…not that I'm forcing you…just saying. Yeah. Ahem. Well.**

 **All hail the queen of awkward sappiness,  
~Rival Argentica )'.'(**


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